


count your days like pocket change

by soapboxblues



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapboxblues/pseuds/soapboxblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ten years. that's how long it takes to get the universes to align again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	count your days like pocket change

**count your days like pocket change**  
olivia/peter, olivia/alternate!charlie, peter/astrid  
 _ten years. that's how long it takes to get the universes to align again._  
7,435 words. pg-13.

A/N: A big thank you to [](http://mollivanders.livejournal.com/profile)[**mollivanders**](http://mollivanders.livejournal.com/) who beta'ed this monster of a fic. I owe you a thousand times over. :)

_the distance from 'a' to where you'd be  
are only finger-lengths that i see_  
 **set fire to the third bar || snow patrol**

 

Ten years.

That's how long it takes to get the universes to align again. [3,695 days to be exact, and Olivia stops counting after 100.] In the back of her mind, she can still feel them tick on.

After a year and change, she stops expecting results. It takes three before she skips a daily visit to the lab. Five before her check-ups? become monthly [peak-ins?]. Six before they're just weekly, then monthly phone calls. Eight before it's a yearly thing. Somewhere in the ninth year, she steps back into the lab. The faces are mostly new, save a handful of project leaders who still work day and night to get her home.

That statement becomes an error somewhere in year four.

Ten years of trying and no one's willing to admit it. Least of all, Olivia.

 

\---

Ten years.

That's how long it takes Peter to get the universes to realign.

3,695 days of staring at endless lines in chalk and on dry-erase boards. 3,695 days of spectacular theories gone unpublished because they're not _the_ theory. 3,695 days of just enough sleep to function, of interrupted dreams, fractured lives.

3,695 days of failure. ([And here's the difference, Peter kept count)

Four hours into day 3,696, Peter makes the world shift.

\---

This is, of course, the end of the story, and with the information, it appears happy. Like some sort of triumph. The rally to win the game. The relief.

But it's more bitter than sweet.

Of the beginning and the end, it's always the middle that counts most.

 

 

\---

 

 

 

 

 

It takes 43 days for Walter Bishop to die.

This is on the other side.

There is a chain of events, some William Bell's making and some Elizabeth Bishop's. Maybe, in hindsight, it's more a culmination than a chain.

Here, Walter did not have a son to love, just vengeance to seek. Here, Walter's greatest sin is pride. It's the stone that all others fall upon.

Charlie Francis stares at the blood soaked desk. His feet were pounding up the stairs, arrest warrant clutched close when that shot rang out. He wonders, idly, if Livy would have been a step faster.

Walter Bishop leaves a trail. Embezzlement. Fraud. That is what the public sees. Secret experiments and secret prisons - few can know about those.

Charlie Francis follows the trail to a dark hole in the ground. Rows of decayed corpses locked in the abyss with only their minds to keep them company after they had been sucked dry of any information they had.

It's a grim sight.

Charlie cannot understand how no one saw it before. How a man as evil as Walter Bishop hid in plain sight.

They open door after door, revealing skeletons and cold bodies, each one a more vivid depiction of the anguish they all suffered, until they get to the last one and Charlie's fingers clench on the handle, afraid of what will be there. He turns the knob slowly, and beyond the noise of flashing cameras, cellphone calls and mumbled directives of an especially somber clean-up crew, Charlie hears it. The catch of breath behind door number twenty-six.

He throws it open.

The body curled in the corner takes its time unwrapping itself, shies away from the sudden light of Charlie's flashlight. He lowers it and a head peaks out from under a curtain of matted hair.

"Charlie." Her smile is weak, only a flash and then it falls away as quick as it came.

He does not call her Livy, though the name perches on the tip of his tongue on instinct. It only takes a few seconds for him to realize who she really is.

\---

Olivia tells him the truth and then she dies.

This is 43 days later. _the irony goes unseen_

Peter stares at his blood-soaked shoes and wonders how he didn't see it before. He knew all of her tells - missed them all. A month and a half of flirty smiles and small gestures that were empty. He wonders if his Olivia was this good of a liar too.

"Did you know?" he asks Astrid as they lean over a table filled with the imposter’s things.

She doesn't answer. His question doesn't justify one. Her hand hovers over his, but never touches. Instead she sets it down beside his, pinky grazing the side of his hand. It's a heavy gesture between them.

"We'll find her," she promises quietly.

He looks over at her, but she won't look up.

\---

Olivia won't let go of his hand.

It takes Charlie a while to realize it.

Maybe he's keeping her tethered to reality. He knows now that there is two of everything. Even him. His head buzzes trying to wrap around the idea. Maybe he's a familiar face. It makes him curious as to how close these universes run.

Or maybe it's not who he looks like but what he stands for. The savior who broke through the darkness, scooped her in his arms and carried her to safety.

It was always the least appetizing part of the job for Charlie - being a hero. Still he cannot seem to stop himself.

Olivia looks up at him, when the nurses take the last blood sample. She tries to smile, tries to be strong and let go of his hand, but her fingers never really disengage and she looks away again.

Maybe it's a little of both.

\---

It takes Walter four hours to break the news. He actually figures it out rather quickly, and normally Peter would blame the hesitation on Walter's scatterbrain, but somehow without knowing what it is, he still knows better.

_We can't go back._ Walter goes silent after the words leave his mout, head down as if he's ashamed to have said it.

Peter knows his father never makes definitive statements. Knows in his heart that it's useless to fight it when he does, but that doesn't stop his mouth from opening or for the diatribe against _danger_ and _limitations_ to spill out.

He talks until Astrid grabs his arm and makes him stop, and only then, when it's silent, does Walter look up.

"When we returned, William Bell absorbed the energy from our passing and most likely imploded and disintegrated. As a result, their universe shifted and now they're running parallel to ours. And since we can only cross when the universes share space, it's safe to say we never will." Walter flinches as he finishes, as if his own bluntness caught him off guard.

The silence that follows is tense. Peter feels like he cannot breathe, feels like once again the wind has been knocked out of his sails and the ground beneath him swept away. He wonders how many times life can surprise him before he gives up on making anything stable out of it. (And this, this is the reason he ran before. He always expected life to disappoint and it keeps proving him right.)

For the slightest moment, he thinks about running away, packing his bags and flying across the world and starting all over again. He thinks about it, but he doesn't do it. Instead he shakes his head, and drags out the chalkboard and all the books on space-time continuum, ignoring the way Astrid keeps dragging his name out for answers he doesn't have.

He gathers, and then he hands Walter a piece of chalk. "Never say never."

Peter tries his bravest smile.

Walter smiles back, proud. Maybe a little sad too.

No one hears Astrid’s mournful sigh between them.

\---

They release her from the hospital two days later. The Fringe division puts her up in the apartment Peter was in and the first night she cannot sleep.

It's a catch-22. She fears the dark for the obvious reasons, but now she has to learn to sleep without it.

The drugs they gave her in the hospital wear off and the prescription they provided her does nothing but dull her senses, make her even more afraid to close her eyes.

Eventually she finds herself standing in the spot where Peter kissed her and thinking about how terrible it is she's handed wonderful things just to have them taken away.

This is rock bottom. (Maybe she's lucky she reached it so quickly)

She finds the scotch they thought they hid, downs a whole bottle and passes out on the couch, where it's pitch black save the small bar of light under the front door that flickers every time the guards posted outside change position.

\---

There are thirty-eight books written on the dynamics on parallel universes. Of them, twenty-eight are complete garbage. The remaining ten have some merit, though Peter cannot pinpoint what that merit is yet.

The problem is he can visualize the problem, can see how to mend it, he just can't create a bridge to breach it. After the fifth rereading of Fraust's _Occupying Two Places at Once: How Decisions Never Really Get Made_ , Peter gets so frustrated he snaps and throws over the chalkboard with a half-written theory on it, soundly cracking it in half.

(This is Peter's rock bottom - and it takes a whole year for his will to break)

Walter doesn't look up from what he's doing and Peter can’t tell if it's an act or if he's really just that absorbed in his own ministrations. Astrid notices though, and she picks up the shards without saying anything.

He helps her, waits for her to say something, but she never does these days.

\---

Charlie brings her coffee every morning. Why, exactly, she does not know. (He probably doesn't either).

It's weak coffee, too much sugar, and not enough cream. She's grateful anyway. The crescent shaped bite marks she leaves in the paper cup's rim are a well needed distraction from the waiting game.

One morning, she sniffs at the cover, swears there's a shot of Irish Cream. She waits to drink until he rubs at the back of his head and tells her they don't know when she'll be able to go home. She knows there's more there than he's at liberty to say, knows why that's okay. She downs the cup and thanks him for everything.

The next day the coffee he brings keeps a touch of alcohol in it. She's surprised any of it is there at all.  
\---

Ella asks when Aunt Olivia is coming home.

Peter looks her in the eyes and lies.

Afterwards, he has the decency to avoid Rachel's phone calls.

\---

 

 

They give her a job, one that doesn't require a gun. She teaches a room full of scientists about her world. Most of the time they stare at her with gaping mouths as she attempts to explain things she mostly took for granted.

This must be what Walter felt like.

There's a routine, then, and she’s no longer sitting around waiting for something to happen. Sometimes the days feel empty and meaningless. Sometimes she feels different, strange - disconnected. Sometimes she’s just lonely.

A lot of the time, she's thankful for the quiet.

Charlie still brings her coffee every morning before work. His wedding ring disappears somewhere between year two and three.

She doesn't ask. (He's thankfully quiet too)

\---

Numbers, theories. They build and fall. The process becomes repetitive, but not as tragic. It's kind of like a trade-off.

The Department of Homeland Security transfers Astrid to a different Division. She still stops by every night after work, listens to Peter rattle on about things that make less and less sense, and tries not to smile at how much he resembles his father these days.

\---

Olivia visits John Scott (somewhere in year two).

Visit is the wrong word. She takes a red eye to Chicago where he's stationed, parks a few blocks from his house and sits casually on the roof of her car.

He comes out the front door of a two story brownstone at six AM sharp (which she expects) and gets chased down seconds later by a golden retriever and a little girl carrying his forgotten lunch (which she doesn't).

Olivia can see his wife in the kitchen window smiling at the sight. Olivia frowns. It should feel good to know he's alive and well, but she tastes empty promises on the tip of her tongue, potent like bile she cannot swallow back down.

She climbs back inside and turns the car on. Her phone vibrates on the passenger seat before she can put it in drive. It's a text message from Charlie.

_where are you? your coffee's getting cold._ Her eyes blur staring at the screen as long as she does.

_I'm lost,_ she types and as soon as the words are sent, she lays her head on the steering wheel and starts to cry.

\---

(Year four heading into year five) Walter is dying - Peter does not know. It's another in a long line of secrets Walter's learned to keep from his son.

Astrid knows. She knows everything.

She takes Walter for long walks around campus, her arm tucked in his. He tells her stories she's heard millions of times over. Each time they have something different, a new twist that pops up in the middle. She appreciates the hidden treasures like any good cryptologist would.

One day - towards the end - they sit down on the park bench closest to the science building.

Walter breaks off mid story - mid laugh actually, closes his eyes like a rush of weariness has taken over. Astrid hides her worry well.

When he opens his eyes, he is suddenly serious. “You’ll take care of him, won't you?"

Astrid tries a smile. "Of course I will."

\---

Charlie traps her (a week) after the John Scott incident.

Groceries in hand and fumbling for keys, she's an easy target. He corners her in the hallway between the elevator and her apartment. Pins her down with just a smile.

He never visits at night. She's so used to her routine that that alone is enough to make her freeze in the hallway. He doesn't say anything, just watches her as she maneuvers the bags in her hands to open the door. It creaks open and she waits for him to move. He doesn't.

Olivia sighs, motioning to the door. "You coming in?"

Charlie smiles, pushes himself from the wall and follows her inside.

He still doesn't say anything. (He and the other Charlie have this in common)

\---

Walter dies (year five).

It takes Peter eight days to realize that there was still much unresolved between them. He's been so lost in bringing Olivia home that the circumstances that led to their crossing have gone unnoticed, untouched.

Then Walter leaves this world with _I'm sorry_ on his lips and Peter spend a week and a day trying to figure out if he was speaking about Olivia or something else.

He decides it was a blanket apology, which he accepts because he has no other choice now.

Eight days after Walter dies they bury him next to his other son in a private ceremony. Just Astrid and Peter.

Astrid's hand is warm against the small of his back. He leans into her touch - the solid presence she represents in his life.

They go out for drinks afterwards and Astrid doesn't touch hers, but Peter downs enough shots for both of them.

"I don't want to end up like him," he admits.

And he knows that Astrid knows this is not one of those times where Peter is coming down hard on his father or judging him. They both know that this is about chasing ghosts.

This is about realizing the woman he's chasing will not be the same one he brings back.

This is realizing all sons all bound to repeat their fathers' mistakes.

Astrid doesn't say this out loud, but Peter hears it anyways.

This is how they coexist.  
\---

Charlie kisses her the day Walter Bishop dies. One minute she's ordering their scotch at the bar and the next Charlie's hand is wrapped around her wrist and his lips are warm against hers.

Like always when he pulls away, she can't read him. So instead of sticking around to figure it out, Olivia leaves in a hurry and Charlie lets her go, which probably says more than it should. She gets home and finds a message on her phone from the lab telling her that the other Walter Bishop has died and she forgets to ask how they know.

The next morning Charlie brings coffee and she cries on his shoulder over Walter before either of them can say anything about the night before.

The kiss gets tucked away for later.

\---

It's quiet when Walter's gone. Peter's reading mainstream fiction and spy novels. All of them are books Astrid leaves in the lab knowing he will pick them up. She still comes over almost every night - _almost_ now because she's got a boyfriend named Tom who's also a cryptologist and she has to see him sometime.

Peter doesn't like Tom. He blames it on the way he overprounounces his h's in words like 'while' and 'which'. He also went to Caltech (and yes, technically Peter faked his way into MIT, but he’s still loyal).

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he's dating Astrid.

And Peter absolutely does not smile a few months later when Astrid tells him over dinner that she and Tom have parted ways.

Instead he just passes the moo shoo pork.

 

\---

Only once does Charlie ask about the other version of him, and he waits (six years) to do so. At this point, all of Olivia's memories of the other side have faded to echoes, but she tries to answer his questions - tries to duck the ones about the nature of their relationship. Those are hard to answer.

"He was married," Olivia says, because in her world, Sonya stayed.

"And that stopped you?" Charlie says, disbelief making itself known. This is one of the times Olivia is reminded they are not the same. This Charlie is rough around the edges, all those traces of bitterness that her partner tried so hard to hide are laid out for display.

By now she's come to accept it.

By now, she cannot tell which one is _her_ Charlie.

"He was a good man," Olivia says. She admits more about her past with five words than she ever has before.

Charlie can read between the lines.

Olivia kisses him, then, because she can.

\---

Peter doesn't notice the date until he reaches for his phone to check the time.

There were enough clues dropped that he should have picked up on it. His life has become all about tunnel vision. He can't seem to appreciate the bigger picture anymore.

Astrid takes him out for drinks and they watch the Red Sox in October and cheer when it goes their way. Peter drinks less than usual and Astrid drinks more. They don't stay out late. There's still work in the morning.

Later, he walks her to her door.

"Thanks for doing this," he says, because today is a marker - 365 days since his father passed, and they both know he didn’t notice it, but Astrid did, always sees things he can't.

She folds her arms behind her back. "He was the closest thing I had to a dad."

Peter wants to say _same here,_ but the words die.

"I don't get why you stick around now," Peter says instead, a little self-deprecating laugh to it.

The anguish that makes its way onto Astrid's face breaks him somewhere that's yet to bruise. She reaches forward, presses her hands against the sides of his face. "Oh Peter..."

_Don't you know?_ disappears between them, swallowed whole when Peter finally does know.

Peter kisses her then, because he should.

\---

"How'd you get that scar?"

It's the last question to really be asked between them. Charlie's been waiting six years for it, and now that she's finally asked it he seems reluctant to talk about it.

Olivia is stretched out on her stomach above the covers, her head is titled to the side and she's got the prettiest smile when she's curious. Charlie can't ignore it.

"Livy," he says, and Olivia furrows her eyebrows, sure he's kidding, and at the same time not sure. She knows the nickname is not meant for her. Knows the person it's meant is long gone. They still don't talk about her.

He stretches his hand against the small of her back before he continues. "I probably should have told her I was married."

Olivia's minds works fast, shifting things into place. She wants to believe it's another joke. Humor is his prime means of avoidance, but the look on his face seems real, haunting. Things make sense. She already knew they both had baggage. She never considered his was as good as hers.

Not as good, really, considering where she is, but close.

She knows he expects her to run. If she was 'Livy' maybe she would. Instead she gives him a quiet smile. "You're not a good man."

Charlie frowns because maybe it's the truth. "I have my moments."

Olivia kisses him again, hoping to stop any more dangerous secrets from falling out of his mouth.

They don't talk about it. About Livy. Or what he chose to avoid all these years. How she wasn't the only one afraid they were seeing ghosts.

They don't mention her name again.

\---

It's a strange tradition - something rooted in truths he cannot bear to admit yet. Part of it was there before, when there was Walter.

For Christmas, they put up a tree. Astrid cuts out paper garland with enviable precision and Peter strings popcorn and tries not to think about how when Walter did this the popcorn never made it to the tree - was either experimented on or eaten (or sometimes both). They place an angel on the top and little blinking lights surround it (they no longer remind him of Olivia).

They smile and banter over decorations and maybe they kiss a few times. On Christmas Eve, Astrid drags him to Midnight Mass because she doesn't have Walter to go with her this year. Peter doesn't believe, but he still sheds tears when the choir belts out _O Holy Night_ because he hears his father's voice among them. The next day they exchange gifts and bake cookies and it's all smiles and most of them aren't bittersweet.

It's normal.

It's a strange tradition for Peter Bishop - being so normal.

\---

It's a gradual process where Charlie and Olivia become Charlie&Olivia.

A box of stuff in the corner of her bedroom that's mostly empty, the contents of which have spilled out all over her apartment. All his good shirts are pressed and in the closet. His gun's on the nightstand in plain sight.

Homemade coffee. He buys her a machine she cannot figure out how to use and makes sure to pour her a cup every morning like nothing's changed.

There are more and more pictures around the apartment of the two of them. He forwards his mail to her place, only holds onto the apartment because some day she might...

They never finish that sentence.

\---

Peter doesn't live much of anywhere, but when he does sleep it's in her bed.

Astrid wraps her arms around him, buries her face in his chest. She whispers the details of her day until he falls asleep. The soothing rhythm of her voice is like _row, row, row your boat_ and he tries not to think about it.

\---

To this point, it would seem this was a one-sided affair, where Peter pines and Olivia forgets.

It isn't. Olivia is just better at coping, better at adapting and accepting. Where Peter ran from every hardship until now, Olivia learned to deal with the cards she was dealt.

But Olivia does not forget.

When it snows, she thinks of him. Peter is most memorable with rose tinted cheeks and bright blue eyes twinkling against the blanket of white over Boston. She can remember the way his breath puffed like smoke whenever he laughed, the heaviness of his gloved hand against the small of her back, the smell of cinnamon that clung to him in December.

When it snows, Olivia asks after him in the lab. She pulls at the edge of her sleeve, as they give her one or two words, maybe a few sentences if she's lucky. To them, Peter is just another scientist they're working with, another face or pair of hands in a series of mirrors they’re copying formulas from. No one, not even Charlie, knows just what Peter is to Olivia.

It's a hard secret to bear, strange in the way it sneaks up on her. Those feelings stay buried under the surface, like a body buried in the sand. Still vaguely recognizable.

Still there.

\---

Peter writes her letters he knows she'll never read. He writes on a typewriter whose 'y' is still wonky and promises himself every time the next will be the one where he fixes it.

He writes about the feelings he never got to share. He writes about regrets and life and all the things he can remember about her. He writes his own manifesto about Olivia Dunham. Two years stretched out over ten.

_Astrid's pregnant._ \- Peter writes. It takes an hour to type two words.

Peter doesn't say it's his baby she's having. He knows she'll never read these but that doesn't make it any easier to admit.

\---

"I love you."

She mutters it once, blissed out over the first sip of the warm cup of coffee she's come to expect, but never take for granted. It takes her ten years to say it.

He's a patient man, always has been. He's also a bit of a screw up when it comes to relationships and somehow this thing between them has lasted longer than all his marriages combined. He thinks it has to do with letting her make all the moves first.

She freezes, realizing what she said, and darts towards the bedroom.

"Hey." He catches the tail of her shirt as she tries to hurry past him, tugs at it so she turns around. He wraps his arm around her waist, pulls her close. "I love you too."

She can move first, but he's learned to make this work, he's got to follow right behind.

\---

He tries not to think about how much fatherhood scares him. It helps that he’s focused on work, but at night he comes home (and now he actually has one) to Astrid whose belly swells with each day, reminding him there's a part of him, a part of Walter and Elizabeth, too, just waiting to show itself.

It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"I love you," he whispers to her stomach.

Maybe it's meant for her too.

 

 

\----

 

The details are insignificant.

The truth is simple. Peter doesn't know it's happening until it happens. Until he's checking numbers and the ones on the left slowly start to creep towards the ones on the right.

He knows how he does it. Page 47 - Fraust's _Occupying Two Places at Once: How Decisions Never Really Get Made_. It was only a theory for ten years.

But now it's the truth. Peter made the world shift. He can reach out.

And there’s some debate over whether it will be him. There’s one of those big secret meetings where the FBI and CIA don’t think it’s a good idea and Homeland Security vouches for him. Peter waits in the hallway outside the conference room in a suit and tie and tries not to think of how ridiculous he looks.

There is no question in his mind that it has to be him who crosses over. He argues that it has to do with his genome, that his body is more adapt than others for being in their universe. He can argue science until he’s blue in the face, but the real reason he has to go is a matter of the heart.

After what seems like hours, they give him the okay and pencil in a day.

Astrid tries so hard not to look worried when he tells her the “good” news, but Peter, oblivious as he has been this past decade, has at least learned to read Astrid. He kisses her forehead and promises he'll be back.

She's not worried he'll get trapped. She's worried he won't _want_ to leave.

He knows this. Knows it could be true. He still promises her a return because he has to, because it feels like its own truth.

Maybe the truth isn't so simple.

\---

The phone hangs in the crook of Olivia's neck. The line went dead long ago. She stares at the kitchen counter.

This is how Charlie finds her.

"Olivia," he tries, after making loud shuffling noises in the living room to break the trance.

She looks up, frozen features show guilt but it's only a split second and then she's hanging up the phone and shifting herself into a more presentable manner. "Hey."

He raises an eyebrow. There's avoidance and then there's this, which is honestly a whole new level of transparent. "What's going on?"

Olivia looks down again, braces herself against the kitchen counter. She attempts to speak a couple times but gets nowhere. Charlie curls his hand around hers, waits for her to find the words.

"Peter Bishop's here."

It says everything without saying anything.

Charlie flinches and his hand slips away from hers. Olivia notices but doesn't say anything.

"I'll come back later." He won't look at her now and she'd give anything to just reach back across that counter, take his hand in hers and remind him she's still here. But there's a part of her that knows they keep things uncomplicated for this very reason. Holding on tight would probably just make it worse.

Charlie gets as far as the door before he turns around, looks at her as if it's the last time, stares so hard that she can feel his gaze all down her spine. When he speaks, it's softer than she expects. "You won't leave without saying..."

He doesn't need to finish.

"Charlie." It's barely a breath of the word before she's rushing to the door, into his embrace, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He has one arm around her waist and the other buried in the thick sea of her blond hair, memorizing the feel of it against his skin.

She doesn't say anything else.

She cannot promise anything.

\---

Olivia never shows up at the lab.

They say that's probably a normal reaction.

They say _probably_ because it's not like they've had opportunities to test the theory.

Peter doesn't take it personally. He waits for someone from Secret Service to bring him over to her place. Waits while the scientists around him stare. They're bright, eager sponges waiting to soak up all his knowledge. He wishes he could explain how the science of this moment is the last thing on his mind.

A tall man with one green and one blue eye is his chauffer for the day. Peter forgets his name, but during the ride, his father's lessons on the cause of heterochromia (two different eye colors) plays in his head and by the end of the trip, his nerves are eased and he's smiling.

The rain coats the streets outside Olivia's apartment - the type of weather they don't deserve. The worry creeps back in once he's standing in front of her door, but he swallows it whole and knocks. He can hear her breath on the opposite side of the door as she fumbles with the lock, and it's the strangest feeling in the world knowing she is only inches from him.

She looks the same. Same blonde hair. Same smile. Her face is a little thinner than he remembers, but for so long she was just a handful of photographs and echoes of all the little faces she made buried in the back of his mind.

She has the same tells too. She shuffles her feet, tries too hard to keep eye contact. She's nervous. Peter's sure it has something to do with the fact that he's staring, but he can't stop himself.

"The least you could have done was meet me half way."

That gets her to crack a smile, and she draws out his name like she's been waiting too long to say it. "Peter."

Her voice sends a chill down his spine. Sound is the first thing to go in faded memories. He is suddenly just as awkward, stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods. "Hey."

She shuts the door behind her, afraid to let him into her world, afraid of what it means to admit she sees it as hers now. Peter cannot see that fear though. He’s too busy staring at her, cataloguing all her features and deciding how much has changed.

"I feel like we should hug or something."

He barely gets the words out before she's accepting the invitation.

She smells the same. Like citrus fruit and gun powder. He tried to replicate it once in the lab, but he never came close.

"It's really good to see you, Peter," she whispers in his ear.

Peter says something along the same lines and it gets a little better. She still doesn’t let him inside.

\---

She takes him around the city, explains in detail all the changes. He watches the way her face lights up when she talks about it, watches how easily she moves around this place as if it’s been home from the start. He isn’t surprised. He always read Olivia as the type of person who could fit wherever she needed to be. That’s what made her so great at the FBI.

She points at all the differences, asks how much has changed over there, how close the two universes are. He does his best to remember all the little things, but ten years is a long time. Somehow with Olivia by his side this world feels more like home.

He wants to tell her this, but she keeps talking about everything around them and not them. It would be too much.

Peter hasn’t eaten since breakfast so on the way back to her apartment, they stop at a newsstand for candy. It’s the same one she’s been going to for the past five years, two blocks from work. Olivia slaps at Peter’s hand when he reaches for a box of what looks like chocolate covered peanut clusters. _they’re not what you think_ and Peter’s eyebrows rise. The man behind the counter looks puzzled.

“What happened to Francis?” he says bluntly. Peter doesn’t realize the man is talking to them until he sees Olivia’s face.

“Glen.” Olivia blushes, “This is my friend Peter.”

Glen does not trust Peter, but he shakes his hand and gives him a discount because Olivia is vouching for him. Peter waits until they’re further down the street before he says anything.

“Who’s Francis?” He says it with a good natured grin, but his insides sting a little, when she looks down and away from him, first, before meeting his eyes. She doesn’t answer, but he gets the picture anyways.

\---

She offers him a drink when they get back to the apartment (this time she lets him inside) and while she makes their tea, he wanders around her living room, taking in his surroundings.

There are trinkets from all over the East Coast, one from Chicago too, but none from Boston which makes his stomach drop. More photos than he expected. He can't help looking at each of them, trying to picture her in each moment, wearing each smile.

He focuses on her, and yet, he cannot ignore that she's not alone in them. There's a noise behind him and he turns to find Olivia's smile fading.

She sets the tea down, and he tries to avoid the giant elephant in the room. She's caught him holding a photo of her and Charlie at a baseball game.

Peter puts the photo back where it belongs, uses dust lines as guides so it's perfect, and at least that hasn't changed. She's allergic to dusting.

He wants to smile, but he's afraid she'll think he's forcing it. "Francis, huh?"

She realizes, then, that they’ve reached this point. They’ve already talked about their worlds, about Rachel and Ella, and Broyles and National Security and science. They haven’t talked about their personal lives and where they took them.

She sits down and he follows and for a second he's sure she won't answer the unspoken questions, but after a sip of her tea and a minute or so of unbearable silence she speaks "He was familiar, and then after awhile, he wasn't." Olivia looks down, considers the statement a wrong one. "That doesn't make any sense, huh?"

Peter shakes head. "It makes perfect sense."

Olivia considers saying something about Walter, expressing remorse, but the mood is already drenched in sorrowed undertones. She can't bear the temperature dropping another twenty degrees. "How's Astrid?"

"She's good," Peter says, and then adds for no reason at all, "We're good."

"Wow." Olivia is usually subtle, but every once and a while, there are things she really doesn't expect. This is one of them, which is saying something considering her days in Fringe.

"Yeah." He smiles, her reaction far from him as his mind wanders to where Astrid is, leaning against the counter while he prepares some elaborate breakfast, humming a tune for her to cook to.

"You've really built a life here," he says. Maybe he's talking to himself but he sees her photo albums and knick-knacks all around him as a sign that it's not just him.

"I feel like I'm at a crossroads, and no matter what I choose it's going to be wrong." She wrings her hands at the thought.

Peter places a hand over hers and they still. "You'll make the right decision. You always do." He tries his most convincing smile and it must work because she smiles back.

"I've missed that."

Peter's grin widens. Her mood has always been contagious. "What? My charming smile."

He can tell she wants to roll her eyes and laugh with him, but she keeps it serious. "You believe in me more than anyone else ever has. Even now, after all these years."

Peter's hand tightens over hers. "I still know who you are."

And Olivia knows now that he is not just the ghost of himself. He is still everything she loved, everything she lost, everything she will most likely lose again. He is the Peter that taught her to take risks.

She takes one now - takes a deep breath and lays her cards on the table. "I never gave up on you, even when I was sure that there wasn't a way back, even when I was sure that I didn't want you to find me, I still knew that you'd be out there trying."

"I love you." Peter ducks his head down. _He always did know how to raise the ante_ "I should have told you that before."

Peter doesn't expect her reciprocate, which is good because she cannot say it back, even if she feels it too. So she settles on a small smile instead and then ducks her head back down. "What happens next?"

Peter is so used to Olivia leading, so ready to fall back into that step that it takes him a second to register the question.

He realizes, then, that she is not the same. She has changed in a way that is neither good nor bad, but still different. He could take her home. She would go if he asked, but it would be out of guilt or regret. She had roots now. Part of him wishes she didn’t, but it’s overwhelmed by the enormous sense of relief that her ten years here were nothing like his few days.

Peter takes a deep breath before he answers, confident his words are right, but still wishing he didn’t have to say them. "I go home."

She wants to argue with him. This is Peter who moved universes to find her, and all she can think about is what the alternative would mean for Charlie, the man who refuses to teach her how the coffee maker on this side works because it's funny watching her stare at the filters every morning.

"I'm sorry." _I'm sorry you wasted ten years of your life_ \- Olivia thinks.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Peter says. "I couldn’t have left you here without knowing for sure." He tucks a piece of hair that’s fallen behind her ears and her eyes flutter open and shut. “A part of me always knew I couldn’t take you home.”

And these truths became apparent years ago, but they did not change the goal to find each other again and hope that they were false. He helps her clean up and they share small talk that fizzles out when he notices the dark starting to creep over New York.  
"Thank you for not giving up," Olivia says when it's time for him to go. She wraps her arms around him, softly kisses the spot where his jaw tucks behind his ear. It makes him long for all those things they missed.

"In some universe, I'm sure we got a happy ending," he whispers in her ear, needing it to be true.

When she pulls back, his lips graze her cheek, the corner of her lip. One of them laughs. And then she pushes forward, presses her mouth against his. It's brief and chaste _It's ten years from where they shared the first one_. She pulls back and he surges forward and it's suddenly not chaste. Her mouth opens out of shock and his tongue slips against her lip and into her mouth, curls against her tongue and settles heavy in her mouth - pulling from her all the anguish of losing the better part of her life, the fear of going back and being unrecognizable, the bitter sweetness of falling in love with someone who was not Peter and knowing it would be impossible to bear losing it again.

He takes everything away.

Her breathing is labored when they break away, when he rests his forehead against hers, when he presses his lips against her cheek and whispers goodbye.

She sheds a single tear when he closes the door behind him, but she never once considers following him.

 

\---

And it's like this: Charlie comes home and Olivia tells him all about Peter Bishop.

Afterwards, he teaches her how to make coffee and she cancels the lease on his apartment. They buy a dog and throw around words like 'marriage' and 'kids' like they're actual possibilities.

They travel the world, too. London and Rome and Vienna. Rio and Sydney.

Once they go to Boston.

There, Olivia never lets go of his hand.

\--

And it's like this: Astrid is waiting for him when he gets home, arms wide open and she doesn’t blink when Olivia is not behind him. He feels a little giddy when she pulls him into her embrace and tells him she’s proud of him. He finally lets himself love her as much as she loves him.

Peter moves on, but he never stops loving Olivia. He just learns to accept that some things don't work out the way they should.

People lose parts of themselves. Fathers bury sons. Lovers get separated.

Loss is inevitable. There is always something gained in the process, a balance to the world - cliché and corny as it sounds.

A month later, Astrid gives birth to a baby boy.

They name him Oliver Walter Bishop.

\---

Some day, years and years away, when jumping between universes is nothing to be feared, Oliver crosses over and meets a girl a few years younger than him who's always trying to make up for something. A girl who's always righting some imaginary wrong.

Haunted, Oliver guesses, would be the best way to put it.

She's nothing like anyone he's ever met.

This is the way the universes course correct.

10,998 days later.


End file.
